


But at least the war is over

by Beleriandings



Category: Akatsuki no Yona | Yona of the Dawn
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical Decapitation, Gen, Sleepwalking, young Kouren deals with the aftermath of the war basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-30 23:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12663333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: Kouren's dreams were always the same, after the war.





	But at least the war is over

Her dreams were always the same, after the war. In the state of suspended disbelief - heavy with the weight of foreknowing - that floats in the very matter of a dream, Kouren would find herself each night walking the palace, her bare feet silent on the floor. 

She never lit a lamp, never came to the idea of carrying a light with her. That, after all, would break the spell, would bring all crashing and shattering at her feet. She felt sure of this, with the unshakable certainty one only feels in sleep.

Kouren would walk down the familiar hallway, opening doors a sliver, closing them carefully again. Just checking. Checking all was well, that her baby sister slept soundly in her cradle. She would look down as Tao, gently stroke back the wisp of hair on her small forehead, hum quietly. A song their mother had sung to her when she was in her cradle, or some nonsense rhyme. Not too loud; she couldn’t bear to break the waiting hush. 

She would carry on from her sister’s room, tiptoeing on silent feet. As princess, she could pass where she wanted within the palace, and she did, silent as a ghost. 

The night air on the battlements was not cold - it was never cold even at night this far south - but the air stirred Kouren’s light sleep dress, lifting her hair as she stared out at the star-strewn sky. She barely saw the stars though; not these days. All she could see was what she had seen the last time she had stood on the defensive walls. 

In the depths of her nights, formless shapes flew in wide arcs over the walls, bouncing and skidding to a halt at her feet. In her dream, she found herself leaning over to pick them up, pulling back dark-stained hair, feeling her dream-fingers touch something warm and wet, as a deep, knowing revulsion stirred inside her. Yet, she found herself unable to stop; even as she had then, she cradled them, these gory trophies, forcing herself to stare into blank and bloody eyes. Feeling blood drip down the front of her night clothes, darkness staining her chest. As though her own heart were bleeding, stark against the pale cloth.

It was important somehow, she knew with the knowledge of dreams. She must not turn from it. She must make it part of her, she must bathe in blood that stained her past, look into the eyes of the dead even as she had that day, if she wanted to redress the wrong that had been done to her country.

One day, she would be the one in control.

The guards would usually find her, those nights. Often, she would struggle weakly against them, crying out in disorientated confusion as she found herself waking on her knees or half-collapsed in hot tears, out in the night air of the battlement, fighting their gentle grasp on her arms.

That was why they started putting a guard on her door. 

At least it was Neguro. That much Kouren gave thanks for, as much as her waking self loathed and resented having to be so watched and guarded, saved from her own sleeping self. Neguro was kind, and strong. The slashes across his face were healing. Or maybe she was getting used to them. 

She didn’t want to get used to them. She didn’t want any of this to fade, to become simply ordinary. 

Still, when she walked in her sleep, he was there to follow her, to wake her gently. It was better than the guards, anyway.

“Princess! Princess Kouren! Please…wake up, Princess. This isn’t real. It’s just a dream.”

Usually, she knew, she would have hated anyone telling her such things, trying to keep her safe and confined. Not when she had been given such a task. Not now, or ever again. 

But if it was him, she found, then maybe it wasn’t so bad. The scars on his face were proof. Him, she could trust. 

She let him lead her solemnly back to her own room, allowed herself to relax a little more as she lay back on her bed, knowing it was him standing at his watchful guard outside. 

After all, she knew that Neguro, of all people, would never forget. The marks on his face were proof; no words were needed. 

He would remember, she knew. And when the time came for redress, he would always be there are her side.


End file.
